


A Cave, a Keep, and a Promise

by KatjaLaRoux



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatjaLaRoux/pseuds/KatjaLaRoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Champion of Kirkwall has been on the run for months and has successfully kept herself hidden. That is until the night a group of Grey Wardens happen upon her camp.<br/>...<br/>Her merry band of misfits, the only family she had left, scattered across Thedas.</p><p>Except for Anders. Who was dead.</p><p>And now she was holed up in yet another cave, with a sprained ankle, feeling sorry for herself.</p><p>“All I need is a bottle of Aggregio, and I can have myself a full blown pity party.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marian

Marian Hawke was tired. She was tired of running. She was tired of hiding. She was tired of being alone. She was tired of the guilt and the pain and the desperation. It had been nearly three months since Isabela anchored her ship in a small cove halfway between Highever and Amaranthine and dropped her off. Three months of camping in caves along the coast. Three months of having nowhere to go. Three months of having no one to talk to.

She knew that Varric had gone back to Kirkwall. Aveline and Donnic, too. Sebastian left for Starkhaven, with Fenris at his side. And Merrill and Isabela were headed for Llomerynn. Or maybe Antiva City. Or Treviso. Isabela was being indecisive when she dropped Marian off in Ferelden.

Her merry band of misfits, the only family she had left, scattered across Thedas.

Except for Anders. Who was dead.

And now she was holed up in yet another cave, with a sprained ankle, feeling sorry for herself.

“All I need is a bottle of Aggregio, and I can have myself a full blown pity party.”

She jerked her head up and looked around the empty cave. Then snorted a laugh. “And now you’re talking to yourself. Fantastic, Hawke. Well done.”

If she’d been alone for three months, that meant it had been seven months since Anders blew up the Chantry. _Since_ Justice _blew up the Chantry_ , she corrected herself. Seven months since Sebastian demanded revenge. Seven months since she felt Anders’s life seep out of his body, between her fingers. She felt hot angry tears prickle at her eyes. _Not again, Marian. You’re done crying over that man, remember?_ She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and sighed.

“Watch your step!”

The whispered words echoed in the cave, likely louder than they were intended. Marian reacted on instinct, standing quickly and drawing her bow. She hissed at the sharp pain in her ankle and held her breath. When she heard the telltale sounds of her traps being disarmed, she cursed under her breath then shouted at the intruder.

“Not a step further! Or you’ll be breathing out of a hole in your chest!”

“An interesting threat, my lady. Did you realize that you’re camping at the darkspawn’s front door?”

The intruder turned out to be four. She quickly scanned the group, considering her options. A warrior in front, sword and shield drawn. Two mages behind him, staffs glittering with magic. And an archer in the shadows. Fighting would definitely not be an option. Even if she wasn’t outnumbered, cornered, and injured, she’d never have a chance against the mages. But they didn’t need to know that. Marian Hawke didn’t give up that easily.

“I haven’t seen any darkspawn, serah.” she replied, keeping her voice level.

The warrior, clearly the leader of the group tilted his head to one side.

“None? Then you’re lucky. Nasty little buggers.” He smirked. But the levity of his response didn’t match the fact that he hadn’t lowered his weapon. _Well_ , she thought, _two can play that game._

“Yes. Fought a few myself. But there are none here.” She matched his smirk with a grin of her own then added, “Now that we’ve established that, could you kindly remove yourself from my camp?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “And if I say no?”

She sighed. No. She was too bloody tired. Maybe it was time. Maybe Marian Hawke did give up after all. And maybe Sebastian would be happy to know she died defending his precious bow.

“The only thing valuable I have is this bow. If you want it, you’ll have to kill me. And I’ll take at least one of you with me.” The bow was already pointed at him, but she shifted her aim, just a hair, to let him know she was serious.

“Wait,” he said, lowering his sword an inch or two, “you think we’re common thieves?” She heard a small cough from the back of the group, probably the archer she couldn’t see.

“Who besides thieves poke around in caves in the middle of the night?” She shrugged slightly.

“Is that what you’re doing here then? Thieving as well?” He was grinning again.

She rolled her eyes and dropped her bow to her side. _I can’t even make my suicide-by-bandits a simple task._

“Yes,” she drawled. “I am camped out here with a busted ankle, waiting for the darkspawn to come, so I can steal their armor.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I suppose we can leave you to it, then.” He dropped his sword and shrugged. She watched warily as his companions withdrew their weapons as well. “Or we could give you a hand,” he added, gesturing to the taller of the two mages behind him, “Charlie here’s a decent healer.”

Marian froze, thoroughly confused by change in demeanor and by the offer. “Who _are_ you?”

“Ah!” He said, stepping forward and offering his hand, “The name’s Aedan. Grey Wardens, at your service.”

She blinked at his hand then looked back up at him. “Grey Wardens?”

“Last I checked, yes. But don’t worry. The taint’s not contagious. Not like that anyway.” He glanced down at his hand with a small frown. She heard the small cough again, clearly a choked back laugh. And then she realized he was referencing his hand, still hanging in the space between them.

She reached out to shake his hand and regarded the group behind him again. And she finally got a look at the archer whose face was no longer hidden in darkness. She knew him. Howe. Nathaniel Howe. He met her eyes, but his face showed no sign of recognition.

“Carver,” she said. When the Commander arched his eyebrow, she added, “My friends call me Carver. It’s a long story.” _Maker, Marian. you really are losing your touch. You used to be a better liar._

“So, Lady Carver,” Aedan grinned at her again. “Healing or no healing?”

“Uh, healing would be great. Fantastic, really. Thank you.” She shook her head in disbelief as the tall mage stepped forward and gestured for her to sit back down. When she did, he knelt next to her.

Now that he was close enough for her to see, she saw that he was young. Younger than her. And when he smiled at her, she saw a chipped tooth. He worked quickly, the cooling wave of healing magic washing away the pain in her ankle as well as the dull ache in her neck and shoulders that she had nearly forgotten about. He wordlessly helped her back to her feet and returned to his spot behind Aedan.

“Better?” Aedan asked. And when she nodded, he said, “Now, Lady Carver, I’m going to…firmly advise…you to come with us.” He held his hand up to forestall any arguments. “It’s not as safe here as you believe. You really are camped out at an entrance to the Deep Roads. And we mean you no harm, I swear it.”

Marian narrowed her eyes. But she knew she didn’t have much of a choice. And she didn’t like the idea of waking up to darkspawn. And she was tired. She sighed in resignation and said, “Fine. Let me get my things.”

She quickly fastened her cloak around her neck, strapped the bow to her back, and waved a hand towards to mouth of the cave. “Lead on.”

Marian followed Aedan and the two mages out of the cave. Nathaniel paused to let her pass and take up a position at the back. _And now I feel like a prisoner_ , she thought bitterly. But when she brushed past him, he whispered, “You’ll come to no harm under our watch, Hawke.”

So he _did_ recognize her.


	2. Marian

Vigil’s Keep was close. Marian wasn’t sure how she’d missed it when she’d come up the hill from the beach she’d been on the day before. No one spoke as they walked, and, when they reached the gates of the Keep, the only thing Aedan said to her before disappearing through a heavy wood door was, “You are not a prisoner here. All I ask is that you stay one night. Then you are free to do as you please.”

The others followed behind him without a word and were quickly replaced by a servant girl, maybe only sixteen years of age. She introduced herself as Poppy and led Marian to a bedroom.

“I’ll have a hot bath drawn, milady. And some food brought up. Is there anything specific you need?”

Marian drew her brows together and took in the room around her. It looked every bit the guest room, a large bed on one end, writing desk on another, an overstuffed chair and small bookshelf in the corner by the window, and a vase of fresh flowers on the desk. She paused at the flowers.

“My apologies, milady. I can take them away, if you like. I just like to put them out, in case anyone does come to visit,” Poppy gushed and snatched up the vase.

“No, no. I…they’re lovely. I’d like to keep them, if that’s okay.” Marian hoped her smile was reassuring. She hadn’t meant to make the girl nervous. “I was just surprised to see them. I wasn’t…expecting to _be_ a guest,” she said finally. Poppy replaced the vase and left with a curtsey, presumably to get the bath and food she’d mentioned. Marian carefully set down her pack and bow and draped her cloak over the chair. Looking around the room one more time, she wondered if Nathaniel and Aedan were actually sincere, if she was finally having a bit of luck, if maybe, just maybe, she would have time to let her thoughts catch up with her feet.

It was late morning when she finally woke, having slept soundly for the first time a long time. Poppy greeted her and brought her a tray of scones and tea.

“The Commander thought you might not want to join the others in the dining hall, milady. Will there be anything else?”

“The Commander?” Marian wondered who this was, realizing that she had no idea how the Grey Wardens worked.

“Warden-Commander Aedan, milady. He’s the one who brought you here, isn’t he?” The look of anxiety on Poppy’s face then brought memories of Orana bubbling into Marian’s mind. She quickly shook them away and responded to the girl’s question.

“Oh. Right. He must have forgotten to give his title when he introduced himself.” She paused for a moment, considering this. Wondering if it had been intentional or not. And what that might mean. She looked back over at the girl and asked, “What kind of man is the Commander?”

Poppy blinked once at her, clearly caught off guard by the question. Then she answered slowly, cautiously. “He’s a good sort, milady. So long as you don’t cross him that is.”

Marian realized that asking the girl about her employer was probably unfair. Orana would have been horrified.

“I’m sorry, Poppy. I probably should speak with him myself. Is that…would that be possible?”

Poppy’s smile returned instantly. “Of course, milady. He’ll likely be in his study at this hour. It’s the last door on the left. I’ll send word you’ll be by.”

And with that, she curtseyed one more time and slipped out.

Marian ate one of the scones slowly. Breaking off one piece at a time, savoring it. It was a perfect scone. Not too sweet, not too dry, and loaded with currants. She couldn’t remember the last time she had anything as lovely as that scone. No, actually, she could. Her last morning in Kirkwall. Just before Anders— _no, Justice—_ destroyed the Chantry. Orana had made apricot scones. Hopefully, Bodhan took Orana with him. Marian sighed and blinked back a fresh set of tears.

After finishing of the second scone and the mug of tea, Marian rummaged through her bag, pulled on the cleanest tunic she had, laced up her boots, and set off down the hall.

The door to the study was open, and Warden-Commander Aedan was sitting at his desk, papers spread before him. Marian paused at the door, taking a minute to study him in the daylight before announcing her presence. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at him the in dim light of the cave. His brown hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, the sunlight streaming in through the window showing the faintest hint of red in it. He had a thin face, high cheekbones, and a long nose that had clearly been broken once or twice. Or thrice. From the angle she was at, she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she imagined them to be brown. For no particular reason. And she wondered if they twinkled when he grinned at his own jokes.

But then her eyes caught sight of the crossed swords and shield on the wall flanked by banners, Amaranthine’s bear crest on one side, the Grey Wardens’ griffon on the other. And the shield over the swords bore the crest of Highever. _Oh, sweet Andraste. Aedan bloody_ Cousland.   

She cleared her throat and knocked lightly on the doorjamb before stepping into the room.

“Ah, Lady Carver. I trust you slept well?” She bit back a smile at how ridiculous that name sounded.

“I did, Commander. Ser…” She shook her head. “What do I call you exactly?”

He chuckled and nodded in greeting. “Aedan is fine.”

 _Green_. Marian couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were definitely not brown. And they did very much twinkle, at least when he chuckled like that. _Get a grip, Marian. He’s the bloody Hero of Ferelden, not some bloke in a pub._

“Right. Aedan. I did. Thank you. I, ah, your hospitality was unexpected. Especially with some of the stories I’ve heard about Grey Wardens.”

She watched as his eyes darkened briefly. “Not all the stories are good ones, I suppose.” He shook his head slightly, and the lighthearted tone returned to his voice when he asked, “Will you be on your way then? To find another cave to sleep in? More darkspawn to thieve from?”

Marian couldn’t prevent the unladylike snort that came out. “Yes. And I’ll set better traps this time.”

“May I ask why you are sleeping in caves in the first place? And why you find the traps necessary?” When Marian frowned, he quickly added, “Not that it’s any of my business, of course.”

Marian debated her answer. It wasn’t his business. And she wasn’t sure she could trust him. Anders had little good to say about his time with the Wardens. But Nathaniel said she’d be safe. And maybe Aedan was the one Anders did speak fondly of. She couldn’t remember if Anders had ever given her a name. She walked towards the window and looked out. A view of the Keep’s courtyard. Merchants and guards and nothing out of the ordinary. _Nothing left to lose, Marian._

“I’ve nowhere else to go at the moment,” she said quietly, surprising herself at how just how sad she sounded. She quickly forced a smile and turned back to him, adding, “And any woman worth her salt would think to set traps when travelling alone.”

He was leaning against his desk, regarding her with a frown. _Shit_. _Maybe too honest, Marian._

“I apologize, Commander.” She shook her head. “I won’t trespass on your hospitality any longer.”

She turned to leave but, just as she reached the door, he blurted, “You said ‘serah’ last night.’”

She looked over her shoulder at him, confused at the observation.

“But you sound Fereldan.” He added, tilting his head to one side, still frowning.

“Ah,” she smiled, realizing what he meant. “I grew up here, but my family fled to the Free Marches during the Blight.” She was vaguely aware that her smile faded, and she dropped her gaze. “I’ve just recently come back.”

“Lady Carver,” He had taken a couple of steps toward her. His frown was gone, but he wasn’t smiling either. There was something almost sad in his eyes. “If you’d like to stay another night or two, take time to look for work or a proper place to stay, you would be welcome.”

At first, her heart leapt at the offer. She desperately wanted the help. And wanted to stop running, just for a bit. And the look on his face just then made her wonder if he would understand. Aedan Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, who lost all of his family in one bloody night, who sacrificed everything to stop the Blight. If _anyone_ could understand, maybe it would be him. But with an actual offer dangling in front of her, she knew she couldn’t. She knew the risk she posed, if she were found. This would be a hundred times worse than harboring an escaped mage. She would not want to bring the full weight of the Chantry on his head. Even the Hero of Ferelden would be at risk if the Seekers came for her.

She shook her head sadly. “You don’t know what you’re offering. It would be better if I left.” She quickly walked back down the hall before he could say anything else.


	3. Aedan

Aedan watched Carver walk out of his study, her shoulders slumped in defeat. When she turned down the offer to stay, he couldn’t help but wonder at her reasoning. It almost sounded like she believed herself a danger. Or maybe unworthy of aid.

The night before, he had been in awe of her composure. He knew few women who could hold a bow so calmly in the face of four fully armed men. When they were walking back to the Keep, he had considered the position she’d been in. Alone, trapped, hurt. Yet she spoke with such conviction, dishing his sarcasm right back at him. She was astonishing. His father would have called her a spitfire.

But now, hearing that tiny bit of her story and the sorrow in her voice, he wondered how much she had lost. And if at least some of her attitude was perhaps more about self-destruction than bravery.

It was a feeling he was familiar with. He’d spent the better part of a year with a similar mindset, back during the Blight, rushing headfirst into battles, not caring about the outcome. If it hadn’t been for Alistair’s obnoxious jokes and easy companionship, he might have actually succeeded in getting himself killed before having a chance to face the Archdemon. He had needed someone else to pull him out of the pit he’d fallen into after his family was killed.

He thought again about the way she’d said “I’ve nowhere else to go” and groaned. He knew he couldn’t, in good conscience, let her go. Not if he was even close to right about her. He took off down the hall at a jog.

She was, fortunately, still in her room, gathering her things. He watched her for a moment, noting how thin and pale she looked, like she hadn’t eaten well in a while. Her dark hair was short and choppy. She’d probably cut it herself with a dagger. It suited her though. Something about the lack of perfection in it seemed right for her. Fitting. He didn’t have much time to take in anything else before she turned to him with a smirk.

“You’re not very good at being sneaky, are you?”

He shook his head, “Sadly, no. I’m much better and bashing things with a shield than sneaking around.”

He watched her laugh and, for just a moment, saw none of the sadness he’d seen earlier in her face. He shook his head. He just needed to convince her it was safe to stay. Aiming for casual, he leaned against the doorjamb and said, “Can I ask where you got such a lovely bow?”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed slightly. “A friend.”

“Must be a good friend,” he smiled.

Her gaze dropped to the bow sitting on the desk. “He was.”

Aedan’s breath caught when he heard the past tense, and he realized, belatedly, that this was the bow she was willing to die fighting for the night before. He had been right, at least in part. She had lost someone, something.

But it wasn’t sadness that was in her eyes when she looked back up at him. It was anger.

She squared her shoulders and slung the bow across her back.

“Look. I appreciate all you’ve done. I do. But I’m not some damsel in distress. I’ve spent much of my life on the run, and I know how to use the weapons I carry around. I don’t need your charity. I don’t _want_ your charity.”

It was all Aedan could do to step aside and let her brush by him. He wasn’t expecting that reaction. At all. He watched her stalk down the hallway and down the stairs. He took a deep breath. And decided to walk out to the courtyard. To get some air. He was not following her. Not at all.

It wasn’t hard to spot Carver in the courtyard. Especially as she was standing nearly nose to nose with Nate, arguing. In whispers. Which is a completely normal thing. He started walking towards them when the girl turned on her heel, clearly intent on walking away, and Nate suddenly grabbed her arm.

Aedan shouted then. “Nate! What in the bloody Void is going on?”

They both jerked towards him, she was clearly still angry. Nate just looked Aedan in the eye, and in a calm voice said, “Lady Carver here would like to stay another night.”

Aedan looked to Carver for a reaction, but found none. He glanced down at her arm, where Nate had clearly not loosened his grip at all. Then met Nate’s gaze again, who was hiding his emotions well. Aedan had no idea what was going on, but he trusted the older man with his life. And Nate clearly knew something Aedan didn’t. The courtyard, however, was not a good place to sort things out. As he did at least three times every day, Aedan cursed being the one in charge.

“Right,” he said firmly. “Both of you. Inside. Now.”

And he marched back into the keep, up the stairs, and into his study. He didn’t even wait to see if they followed. He knew they would.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against his desk, folding his arms across his chest. Carver had dumped her pack and bow on the floor and slumped into one of the chairs. Nate stayed standing, back rigid, jaw set. Aedan couldn’t help but feel like he was dealing with two stubborn children.

“So, who wants to tell me what this is about?” Aedan asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He never was as good as Nate at remaining impassive.

“Shall I tell him? Or do you want to?” Nate asked the girl.

She just met his eyes and deadpanned, “If I’d wanted to tell anyone, I would have already.”

Nate sighed and turned to Aedan. “Our Lady Carver is actually Lady Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.”

“I see,” Aedan said slowly, letting this news soak in.

His first reaction was that there was no way this little girl could have defeated the Arishok in single combat. But then he realized that he didn’t kill the Archdemon with his bare hands either, and her stories were probably as outrageous as his. And she wasn’t really _little_ anyway. Probably just a few inches shorter than him. But that was neither here nor there.

His next reaction was that her attitude suddenly made sense. A whole lot of sense. She _was_ grieving. She had just lost everything. And had been on the run for months.

Aedan brought himself back to the conversation, realizing that Nate had started talking again.

“...destroyed by Anders and Justice. Who are now both dead. Everything else we’ve heard so far seems to be true. The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter are dead. And the Champion, indeed, has fled Kirkwall.”

Aedan had turned to Carver… _Hawke_ …and watched her face while Nate spoke. She lifted her chin slightly and held his gaze the entire time. But her eyes gave her away. He didn’t need to ask her if what Nate said was true. He could see it all right there. 

And he realized why she would think she shouldn’t stay. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Cursing, again, being the one in charge.

“I won’t keep her against her will, Nate,” he said finally.

“Then convince her to stay,” Nate countered. Aedan narrowed his eyes at his friend, wondering why he would be so stubborn about this. Something else was going on.

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“Tell her that she’ll be safe here.” Nate’s voice had the faintest hint of pleading in it. Something was definitely going on.

“Nate?” Aedan raised his eyebrows. And waited for the explanation.

Nate sighed and shook his head. But he didn’t respond to Aedan. Instead, he looked back at Hawke and said, “He was in love with you, you know.”

Aedan watched Hawke’s eyes widen. “Who was?” she asked.

“Anders,” Nate replied.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same person. The Anders I knew wasn’t capable of love.” Aedan winced at the bitterness in her voice.

“Yes. He was.” Nate pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket and passed it to her. Aedan watched as she opened it. As she read, the little bit of color she had slowly drained from her face. She looked up at Nate and held the parchment out to him. Her hand was shaking.

Nate passed it to Aedan.

_Nathaniel,_

_It was good to see you again, if only briefly. I know you have little patience for me these days. I don’t blame you. I won’t take much of your time. I only have a favor to ask._

_You met Hawke. You know she lost her sister in the Deep Roads. Nearly died herself. And yet she willingly went back to find you. Because your sister asked for her help. And she did it with a smile. That’s the kind of person she is._

_And I am about to break her heart. In the worst way possible. There is a chance she may come back to Ferelden. And if she does, she will probably be alone, angry, and lost. And shouldering the weight of the world, including the blame for what I’ve done, what I’m about to do._

_If you do cross paths with her—you may not, but if you do—please take care of her. Please._

_You owe me nothing, Nathaniel. But know that there is no one I trust more than you for this._

_A._

When Aedan looked up from the letter, Nate was kneeling in front of Hawke’s chair, holding her hands in his while she talked. Aedan briefly considered leaving them. But he didn’t know if that would help or not. So he just bit his lip and let them talk.

“He pushed me away,” she was saying, her voice nearly a whisper. “He told me he’d break my heart. And he pushed me away. And then he lied to me. The Chantry…I thought I was helping him separate himself from Justice. But he lied. It was the Chantry. I did that. Because of him. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save any of them.”

“None of us could,” Nate said. “I should have seen what was going on before he and Justice merged. Or tried harder to keep him from leaving. I could take the blame just as much as you. But I know better. I know Anders. He never did like being told what to do.”

Hawke shook her head, like she wanted to argue with that. But couldn’t.

After a minute, Nate dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. “Hawke, let us help you.”

When Hawke turned to Aedan, he added, “Please. The Wardens are technically outside of the Chantry’s jurisdiction. Unless I’m ordered to by the First Warden, I don’t have to tell Chantry officials a thing about you being here. Stay. At least for a little while.”

She looked back to Nate and nodded slowly.


	4. Aedan

For the next week, Hawke haunted the halls of the Keep. She wandered silently, keeping to herself. Poppy was kind enough to let Aedan know that she was at least eating and sleeping and seemed somewhat content to read in her room all day. But she also occasionally found her in tears.

Aedan talked to Nate about her solitude. But Nate just shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about Anders. I think it’s about everything else. And you understand the situation she’s in better than I do. If she really is brokenhearted over Anders, send her my way. That’s something I know. If it’s everything else…just talk to her, Aedan.”

But Nate agreed to try to get her out to the archery range if Aedan would try talking to her. And Aedan knew Nate was right, that Anders was only a small part of it. When she’d agreed to stay, he began digging for information, to get the story straight. As straight as possible anyway. By all accounts, Hawke had been on top of the world in Kirkwall. Champion, rubbing elbows with the nobles, a clearly devoted group of companions. But her companions were gone now, the nobles were likely frightened of her, and the title was nothing but trouble. So, yes, Nate was right. Aedan did understand her situation.

Aedan caught Poppy in the hallway one morning and, with a wink, took Hawke’s breakfast tray from her. Poppy just giggled at him and shook her head.

When Hawke opened the door, Aedan aimed for his most charming smile and asked if he could join her.

She shrugged, gave him a small smile, and stepped aside to let him into her room.

He poured them both cups of tea from the teapot, sat in the overstuffed chair in the corner and studied her for a moment. She looked better. A healthy pink in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes gone. She had a pretty face. Not the fine lines of a noble beauty, but softer, somehow kinder. Considering the contradiction of that softness and the fire in her personality, he could see why Anders would fall in love so easily. He considered complimenting her, but when he noted the suspicion in her eyes as she watched him from the desk, he decided against it. Instead, he just launched into his planned conversation starter.

“So legend has it that the Champion of Kirkwall defeated the Arishok in single combat. True or false?”

She raised her eyebrows at first, but then answered, “True. He challenged me to a duel.”

“Wait, really? Maker, I thought for sure that one was false.” Aedan shook his head. “I should have started with one of the others.”

Hawke smiled, a more genuine one than the one she’d given him at the door. “I think we can both play this game, _Hero._ I’m pretty sure neither of us are ten feet tall.”

“No. And neither of us can shoot lightning bolts out of our eyes.” Aedan grinned at her, pleased that she’d joined in so willingly. Definitely a spitfire.

“Did you really speak with Andraste’s reincarnated spirit?” Hawke asked.

“Nope. It was just a High Dragon some crazy cultists decided to worship. Did you single-handedly fight off a pirate invasion at midnight, on the sacred ground of the chantry?”

Hawke shook her head. “I did help a friend with a problem in a chantry. She’s technically a pirate. And there was fighting. But no, not quite like that.” She paused before asking, “Killed the Archdemon with your bare hands? Or a spoon?”

“A spoon?” Aedan chuckled. “I haven’t heard that one before. But no, I most definitely had my sword. And an entire army at my back. Rescued from the Blight by Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds?”

“Ah,” Hawke grinned widely. “That one would be true.”

“Really?” Aedan arched an eyebrow. He was surprised by that and wondered idly how many people Flemeth had saved during the Blight.

“Really,” Hawke nodded. “I take it your Flemeth story is true as well?”

“Mostly, I think,” he sighed. “I was…a bit of a mess at the beginning of the Blight, after my family was killed. There are a few things I don’t really remember clearly. Ostagar being one of them.”

“I was there, you know. At Ostagar.” Hawke’s grin had faded. “My brother and I. We were lucky to be at the back, I suppose. When we ran from Ostagar, we went straight to Lothering to grab my mother and sister and just kept running. That’s how we ended up in Kirkwall.”

“With Flemeth’s help,” Aedan pointed out, hoping to coax a smile back to Hawke’s face. He hadn’t meant to let the conversation get so serious so quickly.

“True,” Hawke said slowly. “You know, now that I think about it, this whole thing is all Flemeth’s fault, isn’t it? It wasn’t me or Anders or Justice or Meredith or that stupid idol we found. It was Flemeth. If she hadn’t helped us get to Kirkwall, I wouldn’t have gotten stuck with any of this.”

“Actually,” Aedan said, shaking his head, “I think we can lay the blame at Loghain’s feet. If he hadn’t been so stubborn and paranoid about the Orlesians and the Wardens, Ostagar wouldn’t have happened. You and your brother wouldn’t have had to run. I wouldn’t have been left one of the only two Wardens in Ferelden. And neither of us would have our bloody titles and all the wyvern shit that comes with them.”

Hawke laughed at that. Really laughed. And Aedan decided he really liked her laugh.

“Well, then,” she said, raising her now empty teacup in a toast, “to the Void with Loghain.”

Aedan chuckled and raised his cup as well. “To the Void with Loghain.” Then he shook his head. “I should go. I’ve wasted enough of your time for now.”

He stood and gathered the remnants of her breakfast. Just as he turned to step out of her room, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He glanced down at it before looking at her. Her expression was serious, but there was a sort of spark in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen before. It was promising. And it made his stomach flutter in a strange way. Or maybe just in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“I promise to never call you Hero, if you promise to never call me Champion.”

He could help the smile that crept across his face.

“That sounds fair.” Then he paused and raised an eyebrow. “So what should I call you instead?” he asked.

“Marian. For you, I’m just Marian.”


End file.
